


10 December

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [9]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 December

**Author's Note:**

> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks, once again, to all of you who have left your kind kudos and comments and to my betas, the marvelous Jackie and Sherry. We are winding down this one, with only two pieces left to go. It's been a lovely journey so far. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Demelza started awake, opening her eyes. She was sitting in the armchair in her bedchamber, her embroidery fallen to the floor by her feet. She yawned and stretched, feeling the bones in her spine pop as they realigned and raised a hand to massage a kink that had formed in her neck. In recent weeks, she often fell asleep unexpectedly, and knew it was because of the baby.

Their baby. She still found herself overwhelmed by the prospect. She’d begun to notice changes in her body: her waistline had developed a thickening and her breasts were very tender and fuller than before. Yet she found she had to adjust the fit of her stays only slightly, which gave her hope that the dress she’d purchased with Verity might still fit in time for Christmas. _Only just,_ she thought to herself.

The main change she’d begun to encounter with more and more regularity was morning sickness. In Demelza’s case it usually appeared in mid-morning, after she returned from her walk. She remembered her mother’s experience with it, and how it could sometimes make it hard for her to rise from her bed. Demelza was fortunate for it to be more of an inconvenience than a concern. Certain foods – chicken, in particular – could bring it on the rest of the day. It was because of this that Jinny had become the second person to know about the pregnancy. The young maid had been very happy to hear of the news and had agreed to keep chicken off the menu for meals for the foreseeable future. And while this removed one of the principle staple proteins from their meals, they’d managed to come up with ideas that suited everyone’s tastes without, apparently, setting off too much notice.

One appetite that had not diminished was her desire for her husband. When she was able to stay awake, that is. The fatigue that seemed to follow her throughout the day had a tendency to sneak up on her in the evenings after supper or in the early mornings, the latter a particular favourite for the two of them. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d woken to find her husband sliding in between her thighs, drowsily wishing her a very pleasant good morning in the days before her pregnancy. Now it was not uncommon for her to wake to find Ross already bathed and dressed, offering her a gentle kiss instead. “You looked so peaceful I did not want to wake you, my dear,” he would invariably say. _I wish you_ had _, husband,_ she would think to herself.

It had been no different today with the exception that Ross was gone by the time she woke. And now she was to miss his good-bye kiss as well? She huffed in frustration and rose to prepare for the day. She was excited about it; for today was the day they dressed the house for Christmas. But right in the middle of it, while in the parlour with Jud, Prudie and Jinny, preparing the holly, pine and cedar branches to decorate the house, she was suddenly struck by a wave of nausea. She excused herself and raced to the privy just in time. She felt so awful afterwards, she retreated to her bedchamber and pouted over her embroidery until she fell asleep.

She’d been looking forward to the house decorating for weeks, as it would be the first Christmas she was sharing with Ross as his wife. She viewed all of the preparations through a new lens, each aspect taking on a greater meaning than before. She looked forward to spending Christmas Eve in front of the parlour fire, sipping their wassail, and possibly watching snow fall through the windows; then waking abed Christmas morning and, perhaps, exchanging gifts in the privacy of their room. Demelza had sewn new handkerchiefs for Ross and embroidered his initials in the corners that she intended to give him along with the news of their coming child.

She hoped he would be happy. Prayed for it, in fact. Things between the two of them had never been better. She’d detected a shift in him since the night they walked back from the pilchards. He’d been more affectionate with her, continuing with the teasing game they’d begun that night in recounting the things they liked about one another. She would have liked to continue the game into the intimate life together, if only she could stay awake long enough to entice him! She had to admit his willingness to let her sleep instead of pressing her to lie with him was another sign of his consideration. He’d manifested this new side to his personality in other ways as well: leaving a pretty shell he’d found on Hendrawna Beach on her pillow and, when the business of the mine hadn’t precluded it, taking her riding or tackling some of the more difficult poems she’d skipped over in her poetry book. There were times she’d pretend to grow frustrated just so she could listen to him read the words. She loved his voice so.

She loved everything about him. There had been times she’d been ready to share the depths of her feelings for him, but – for some reason – always stopped herself before the words passed from her lips. She frowned. Not _some_ reason, she thought to herself. She knew precisely why she held back and it was the same reason she’d always held back: she still remained uncertain of Ross’s feelings towards Elizabeth.

He’d not spoken of Elizabeth for weeks, but where the mistress of Trenwith fit in his life remained ambiguous, an unspoken barrier. Demelza was pleased not to have had to encounter either Francis or Elizabeth since she and Ross married, a slight twinge of guilt tickling the back of her neck when she remembered shying away from supporting Ross in July. But she knew the reprieve would not be for long and eventually, she would have to be introduced to them. She hoped that it would happen once she was visibly pregnant; that would provide proof that Ross had chosen Demelza and was starting a life with her, not pining for something unattainable.

She rubbed her hand over the thickening at her waist. _Regardless of what he feels for me, dear one, I know he will love you,_ she said to the life within her. _And, perhaps, me._

Her ears perked at the sound of Ross’s voice out in the yard below. Demelza looked at the sun’s light streaming into their bedchamber and was shocked to see it was time for their midday meal. She poured some water from the ewer into the basin and washed her face, glancing in the mirror over the fireplace and pinching colour into her pale cheeks. She tucked away the embroidery and grabbed her green woollen shawl before quitting the room.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and froze, her hand moving to her abdomen. She felt a tiny fluttering, like the brush of moth’s wings against one’s fingers and stood in wonder. _Is that you, dear one?_ she asked, her hand caressing her belly. The fluttering resumed and she smiled, tears forming in her eyes. “Hello! Hello, my darling child,” she murmured softly, leaning against the wall near the kitchen. Jinny looked up at Demelza, noticing where her hands were and smiled. Demelza gave her an answering smile, dabbed at her eyes and straightened her shoulders before entering the parlour.

Ross leaned against the sideboard, his eyes focused on a letter held lightly his hand. He’d been down in the lower field repairing part of the stone fence that lined their property. Demelza smiled inwardly, for she always enjoyed seeing him relaxed as he was. He wore the work clothes he reserved for Nampara, homespun linen that suited his strong, lean build. His hair was dishevelled, and her fingers itched to run through the unruly curls. Perhaps she could convince him to postpone his trip to the mine after dinner. She was about to greet him when he spoke.

“From Francis,” he said, eyes remaining on the letter. “Inviting us to spend Christmas at Trenwith.”

She felt the colour drain from her face and nausea swam around the edges of her stomach. _Say something!_ “Oh,” she breathed.

His eyes shifted from the letter to her. “What’s the matter?” he asked directly. The changeable nature of his hazel eyes always struck her. They were a mossy green and completely focused on her.

Thoughts of her dream for a quiet Nampara Christmas, with just the two of them, were dissolving into dust before her. She hid her disappointment and put on a brave face. “Well I—I couldn’t,” she stammered. “You go—“

“—Naturally, we both go or we both stay,” he interrupted.

The voice in her head reminded her of the promise she’d made to him, to try. The voice of her heart shouted it down, and a rain of excuses flowed forth. “Ross, I aren’t their sort. They’ll look down their noses.” She paused, her throat swollen with fear. “They’ll send me to eat with the servants,” she whispered, raising her eyes to his.

He lowered the letter and leaned back against the sideboard on both hands and fixed her with a steely, unwavering gaze. “Do you think I ought to be ashamed of you?”

She blinked. “’Tis not that, but—”

“—Do you think they are so much better than you?” he continued, interrupting her midsentence.

“I don’t, but  _they’ll_ think so,” she asserted, feeling her spine stiffen under the challenge. “Maybe not Verity, but…” Her courage wavered. “Elizabeth…” she muttered, fidgeting. She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, and didn’t like what she saw. Ross was enigmatic, and oftentimes difficult to read. In this moment, his thoughts and intentions were clear. She shifted her gaze to the floor. 

He shook his head. “You do her an injustice,” he said, a ring of disappointment tingeing his deep voice. “ _And_ me.” He swung his leg over the bench to sit at the parlour table.

Demelza blinked again, confused. “You?” she exclaimed, settling across from him. Her fingers nervously gripped the shawl around her shoulders. _Where was he going with this?_ she wondered.

He looked at her. “To think I could admire someone who thought meanly of you,” he said, care clear in his tone. He slid a fresh piece of paper and a quill from the centre of the table.

Her brow furrowed. Care for her or care for Elizabeth? “Well, _do_ you admire her?” Demelza asked, and she heard petulance and insecurity in every word. _When will this stop?_ She flicked a sideways glance in his direction.

“Elizabeth was born to be admired,” he said softly, and a soft smile touched his eyes. Jealousy, pure and simple, rose up in her chest to join with despair. Her brows snapped together into a scowl.

“And I was born to pull turnips!” she snapped, her shoulders slumping. Ross gave a slight snort, dipped the quill into the inkpot and began writing on the sheet of parchment. She sat up and went very still. “What are you doing?”

He looked up from the parchment. “Accepting the invitation,” he said simply before returning his attention to his letter. Demelza closed her eyes, the nausea returning. The time had finally come. There were too many questions spinning round her head that needed answering. She knew she would need to be open with him about them in order to feel like she could find a firm place to set her feet. She watched as he dusted the letter with sand and sealed it with wax. He looked up at her and smiled. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

He rose from the table and left the room, calling for Jud to deliver the letter. Demelza laid her head down on her arms and let her tears fall.

~*~*~*~*~*~**

Ross took a sip of his cider, glanced at Demelza through his lashes and frowned. He knew the invitation from Francis would throw her, but he hadn’t any idea it would be as severe as it was turning out to be. After all, they’d discussed this after their misunderstanding in July. She’d promised to try to overcome her fears about taking her rightful place by his side as his wife. Going to Trenwith was the final hurdle to cross.

He turned his head to argue something to that effect when he took a good, long look at his wife. His frown of annoyance turned to one of concern. She’d barely touched a bite of the fish pie they had for dinner, mainly nudging pieces of it around her plate to give the appearance of eating. And she was pale, her naturally fair skin almost translucent in the light from the candle on the table. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet through their meal as well, and while Ross was perfectly comfortable with long stretches of companionable silence between them, what was occurring was anything but companionable.

And whilst his attention was on the mine, it was clear she was working herself far too hard because she would often be asleep by the time he climbed the stairs for their room. Granted, he hadn’t been able to seek their bed until midnight or later, most nights, but that hadn’t stopped her from waking and welcoming him when he did so in the past. These days, her sleep was often so deep she would barely move when he would gather her in his arms. And as much as he wanted her, he felt she was more in need of rest than his intimate attentions. His eyes lingered on her profile. Jinny said Demelza had been upstairs sleeping _again_. If this continued much longer he would be forced to contact Dr. Choake.

When he wasn’t thinking of Demelza, the impending closure of Wheal Leisure occupied his mind, both waking and sleeping. The situation at the mine had finally reached the point where he’d met with Henshawe and Zacky to discuss how they should end their gamble for the best of all concerned. Now that a date had been set – the 30th of December – the pressure shifted to what was to become of them all. Nampara was partially mortgaged, with no prospects for repaying the loan on the horizon. Much in the way of Demelza’s economizing would make things more comfortable than if it had been left up to him though. And they had a bumper crop of fruits and vegetables that they’d been able to turn into preserves and plenty of apples for cider, enough to have ample to sell in Sawle. Moreover, their management of the livestock would provide them with enough to see them through winter and well into spring.

But none of this would matter a damn to the people who looked to him for their employment. What on earth was he to do for them when the 30th came? He had some monies set aside to purchase stocks of grain – wheat, barley and oats – to provide to the families to help ease them through the harshest parts of the winter, but beyond that? What could he do, other than mortgage the second half of his home and lands and place he and his wife at risk of losing everything they had?

He set down his cup and rubbed both of his hands over his face, returning his gaze to his plate. He picked up his fork for another bite of pie and thought of the upcoming visit to Trenwith. He hadn’t been back to the house since his uncle died. That night when he’d returned and cleared the air between with Demelza had been more of a turning point in their relationship than he’d realized. Since then, and especially since the night the pilchards arrived, Ross rarely thought of the girl he’d left behind to go off to war. Instead, if he wasn’t brooding about the mine, his thoughts were on the lovely red-headed woman he’d vowed to honour and protect. It was as if he’d redoubled his efforts to build a life with her as its centre and, by doing so, the spectre of Elizabeth had waned into the background. And, truth be told, it felt good. More than good: right. Fated. But it hadn’t been entirely eradicated and that was a problem.

Now that the invitation was here, he knew he would have to address it; this final vestige of reserve. He hadn’t seen Elizabeth since the brief glance he’d shared with her at Charles’s gravesite. The glance, while brief, had spoken volumes of her disappointment in him. He knew she’d stayed away from the reception because of him and in retrospect, he was glad of it. Before that, he last saw her the day after he and Demelza were intimate for the first time. He still squirmed under the memory of her shock and dismay, but now more so because of how it had made Demelza feel than anything else.

He felt the left corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. How things have changed. When, six months ago, he was raging at the injustices of the world, his loss of Elizabeth being principle among them, now he focused on the simpler things that mattered; his people and his wife. It was, as he said to her the night the pilchards arrived: overwhelming. He warmed with the memory.

 

“Are you finished, sir?” Jinny’s voice interrupted his musings and he looked up to find her standing at his elbow.

“Yes, yes I am, Jinny, thank you,” he said, picking up his napkin and wiping his mouth. “It was delicious. Wasn’t it, Demelza?” He noticed she started at the sound of her name and raised her eyes to his. They were dark and worried.

“Yes, it was,” she said, setting her fork down on her nearly full plate. “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry right now. I’m sorry, Jinny.” The maid bobbed a curtsy to both of them and took their plates from the room. Demelza made an attempt to remove the rest of the serving items from the table, but Ross reached out to touch her hand before she could rise.

“Leave that for Jinny, Demelza,” he murmured, taking her hand as he stood up, drawing her up to stand next to him. “Come with me.” He led her from the room and up the stairs to their bedchamber. At this time of the day, with the household busy with work downstairs, he felt assured they would have the privacy they needed for this conversation. He led her to the armchair and bade her be seated before walking to the desk to pull the stool over next to her. He lowered himself onto it and gathered her hands in his. “Tell me. What is troubling you, my dear?”

She looked up from her lap. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’m sorry, R-Ross,” she whispered brokenly.

“Hey, now!” He rose from the stool and swept her from the chair and into his arms. Her arms snaked around his waist and held tight before her hands slid up to cling to his shoulder blades. He’d only seen Demelza cry a handful of times, but never like this. He was completely bewildered by her response. One of his hands came up to cradle her head against his neck and chest. They stood like this for several moments, rocking back and forth whilst he made gentle shushing sounds to calm her. As her tears subsided he leaned back in their embrace to tilt up her chin with the tip of his index finger.

“Ross, no,” she hiccupped. She shook her head, her arms sliding from around his waist, her hands swiftly covering her face.

“I need to know what is distressing you, my dear,” he said, holding her by her shoulders and making an effort to see around her hands. “I cannot help if I do not know.” He rubbed her arms. “Is it about the invitation?”

She nodded, still concealing her face. “Please talk to me, Demelza. Help me understand.” She sniffled loudly. He gave her his handkerchief and turned her back to the chair. This time, he sat first and drew her onto his lap. She curled into him, her face resting against his neck. The fingers of one of her hands twined with the fingers of his and settled in her lap. “I’m frightened,” she said, her voice scratchy from her tears.

“Of what?” he asked, brushing a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Of what they will think of me, Ross,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes; _state it plainly and address it directly_ , he thought. “My dear, we have been married for almost six months and you have yet to meet my family, other than Verity.”

She sighed against him. “I know.”

“And you promised you would try, did you not?” he reminded her, knowing this would pain her and cursing himself for it.

“I did,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you know why this will be different, Ross,” she added, sitting up in his lap, her eyes meeting his. There was a little fire returning to her voice and he was glad for it.

He nodded. “Yes, I know.” He leaned back to look at her and reached down to take hold of the hands that tried to cover her face. The tip of her nose was red and her cheeks were blotchy, but he found her to be beautiful, regardless. “I will be right beside you, as will Verity. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded woodenly. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re my wife, Demelza: you and you alone.” Demelza searched his eyes and looked as though she was on the verge of saying something to him. Something of import, and he wondered if this was the moment for them. And if she did confess her love for him, would he be able to return the words he knew she desperately wanted… no, needed to hear? “Is there anything I can do for you, my dear?”

“Show me,” she whispered. Her fingertips touched his jaw, drawing his gaze deeper into her own.

He swallowed, his heart suddenly pounding in his throat. “Show you what?” he asked a little hoarsely.

“Show me that I’m yours and you’re mine, Ross,” she said, and he felt the wild beating of his heart stop. _Show her she is mine and I am hers?_ he asked himself stupidly. _Am I hers?_ Physically, there was absolutely no question. His desire, his passion for her remained as constant as the sun’s rising. It welled up within him now like an inferno. But if she was asking about his heart, his very soul, what could that answer be? She turned in his lap, and the friction against his groin nearly made him groan with agony. He tried to remember the last time they’d made love and he realized it had been weeks. Her fingers traced the line of his scar. “I’ve missed you.”

The soft touch of her fingers against the sensitive skin that made up his scar made him shudder against her. “And I you, Demelza,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, not trusting himself with more, not with her request still ringing in his ears. _Your heart and soul, Ross? Whose was it?_ “Are you certain? You looked so pale earlier and you barely touched your foo—”

She silenced him with a kiss, erasing all concerns from his mind. His tongue swept her mouth, his hands holding her tight against him as he rose to his feet. He carried her to their bed and set her down next to it. She gave him a smouldering look as she picked up the tinderbox to light the candles. He walked to the door and turned the key. By the time he reached their bed, she’d lit the candelabra on her side and was reaching for the hooks at the front of her dress. He touched her hands to still them, brought them to his lips and kissed her fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. “Let me,” he murmured, moving his hands to her bodice, his fingers gently unfastening the hooks down the front of her dress. The backs of his hands brushed the crests of her breasts, which rose full against her stays and the collar of her shift. “Beautiful, Demelza,” he sighed as his hands gathered fistfuls of her skirts to pull them up over her petticoats. She raised her arms to ease the removal of her gown, taking it from his hands and laying it across the foot of the bed. She turned, pulling aside her hair to offer him her back and the laces of her stays. He leaned into her, his lips caressing the spot between her neck and shoulders he loved to distraction, his fingers untying the scrap of ribbon that held her hair in place and letting it fall to his feet. He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, as she so often did for him, and relished the quivers and moans of delight she gave him. “Lovely, is it not, my dear?” he asked her, his mouth nibbling her neck.

“Yes, Ross,” she breathed.

“As are you,” he crooned, turning her to kiss her. He felt her arms slip around his waist to pull him close and lost himself in their embrace. His loins ached with need for her as he felt her hips begin to circle against his own and he deepened the kiss. His fingers busied themselves on the laces of her stays, enjoying the shivers the freeing of her body made as each lace slipped through its loop.

He took a step back as the stays and petticoats fell to the ground. She stood before him, clad only in her shift. She quivered, and Ross thought it was from the desire that had built between them until she raised her hand to rub at her left side, then her right side until she was quivering all over.

Ross blinked. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?” he asked, concerned. It was only after the sleeve of her shift slipped from her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of the crisscross of lines her stays had pressed into her ribcage that he surmised what had happened. He stepped closer to peer down the front of her shift to see the marks left by the tightened stays. “Demelza, should your stays be as tight as they are? You’ll leave welts on your skin if you continue to rub at them like that!”

She flapped a hand towards the stays on the ground and laughed wryly. “Oh, I hate those blasted things, Ross,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, stepping closer to massage her ribcage.

“Yes,” she said, shivering under his caress. “That.”

Ross chuckled and put his back into it, kneading her back and sides until he brought his hands up, cupping and fondling her breasts. She winced, fleetingly. He stopped. “Demelza? What’s wrong?”

Her hands fluttered against his, still resting on her breasts. “They’re a little tender, Ross,” she said, blushing.

“You _are_ lacing them too tight,” he said, glowering at the stays on the ground.

“It’s all right, Ross,” she said, her hands pressing his against her breasts, her fingers against his own, encouraging his continued touch. He returned his gaze to hers and saw desire lighting them from within. “I was just startled. I love your hands on me.”

“I love touching you,” he murmured, gently caressing her. He bent his head to kiss her once more before raising his head and nodding towards the bed. “Get in, my dear.” His voice was a low rumble even to his own ears. “I’ll be with you presently.”

She smiled and climbed up into the bed, slipping in between the covers. His thumb began to loosen the buttons on his waistcoat and he flicked a glance in her direction. Her eyes were alight with pleasure and mischief. He well remembered her admission about his waistcoats and arched his brow at her, his own smile creasing the side of his face. “Are you going to stare at me while I undress, my dear?” he asked, feeling his cheeks warm under her scrutiny.

She nodded, her smile broadening. Her jade-green eyes gleamed longingly in the candlelight. He laughed. Oh, how he’d missed this the last few weeks. He hurriedly undressed and climbed into bed with her, gathering her in his arms. He touched the sleeve of her shift. “Are you chilled?”

“I am, a bit,” she said.

“Let me warm you, my dear,” he said, drawing her close. Their kisses were luxuriant, joyful in reunion after so many weeks of abstinence. Their hands were everywhere, lingering in favourite spots, drawing mingled sighs and moans from their throats. Demelza’s shift was soon wadded into a ball and tossed onto the floor to join their other garments. Ross drew the covers down to their waists, despite the chill in the air. He gently nuzzled and kissed her breast, tracing the blue veins with his tongue, lavishing the deep, rose-red nipple with his attention and enjoying the scratch of her nails against his scalp as he suckled. His hand slipped down her waist to the thatch of russet curls between her legs, felt the slick folds of her sex blossom open to welcome his caress.

He lifted his eyes to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth parted in want. Her tongue snaked out to lick her lips and Ross felt blood rush into his length, pressed tight against her hip. He slipped his first two fingers inside her body and shuddered as he felt her tighten against him. His thumb slid up to her bud, stroking her. She moaned, her hips undulating under his touch. He released her nipple, brushing a kiss against the side of her breast as he slid down, unable to resist. He shifted his body until he lay between her thighs, his arms wrapped under and around her legs, his hands gripping her hips. Her eyes had opened, watched him as he moved to where he now lay.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, brushing his cheek against her skin and was rewarded with her shuddering moan as she writhed against his beard’s abrasiveness. “Ross, oh Judas, I love that,” she sighed.

He grinned, kissing the inside of her other thigh before his tongue slipped in between the lips of her sex to caress her bud. Her body arched as his tongue curled around it to stroke it from all sides, as he lingered and savoured her. He moved lower — despite her protests to continue — to kiss her knee, his tongue snaking out to lick its hollow. He rose up to sit on his heels, bringing her leg with him as he kissed her calf, her ankle and then her foot. “You have beautiful legs, Demelza,” he said, sliding first one, then the other over his shoulders. “But I love what is in between them even more.” He leaned forward, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders, and slipped inside her. He shuddered heavily, unable to keep from groaning as the tightness of her inner walls caressed his length. She gasped once, twice before her nails scored his wrists, her eyes widening. He stopped, frozen by the expression on her face. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “No…no, you’re so—” she gasped. He inched forward and she shuddered and gasped again. “So deep, Ross!”

He was struggling for breath himself as he came to rest against her, buried deep within her welcoming body. He leaned forward, brushing her lips with his as he began to move within her. Her hands stroked his chest, fingers tangling in the soft black hairs, before moving lower to caress his belly, sending shivers along his sides and up his back. Her eyes were fixed on his, and he felt as if he were falling into her, a sea of her. Her hands reached around to his back and his buttocks, pulling him deeper within her. He groaned, his pace quickening. His eyes drifted shut, his shoulders beginning to quake from the exertion. He began to pant, trickles of sweat running down his cheek and down the centre of his back. He opened his eyes to see her, flushed from her breasts to her neck, radiant. Her eyes were half slits, her mouth open and panting along with him. “Ross… Ross…” she breathed, her hands drifting up to cup and caress her breasts, her nipples hard and erect.

“Jesus,” he groaned, “Jesus God, Demelza I can’t wait.” He straightened his legs; his body was as taut as a board, supported only by the strength of his arms and Demelza's welcoming body. His weight pressed her down into the feather mattress as each thrust brought him deeper and deeper into her. Her eyes widened before they squeezed shut, her head pressing back onto the pillow as her body arched.

She made a keening sound from the back of her throat as she came. He began to shudder against her. The walls of her sex showered him with her body’s nectar, clenching around his length over and over. “My Demelza,” he moaned, the rhythmic pulses of his release sending shafts of pleasure radiating through him, wringing him dry.

He barely had enough presence of mind to shift his weight to allow her legs to drop down from his shoulders to the bed before the strength in his arms abated. He lay atop her, still cradled within her. He was unaware of how much time had passed, instead focusing on the feel of her arms circling his back and sides. Her foot’s lazy movements along his thigh and calf made him shiver with pleasure.

Made his length twitch within her.

He smiled ruefully to himself, raising enough to support his weight on his forearms and brushed a kiss across her lips before lingering for more. And more. And still more.

“Demelza,” he murmured against her lips. “You make me weak with want of you.”

She smiled, her hips circling against him. “Is that a bad thing, husband?” she asked, moving her lips to his cheek and jaw before rubbing her own cheek against his, like a queen cat greeting her tom. He shuddered, kissing her again. Her fingertips ran up and down his back, firing nerves into little bursts of sensation along his skin. He began to harden within her, being coaxed back into life by her relentless undulations. He moved within her. Her legs came up to circle his hips, and he rejoiced in the feel of them against his flanks as he began to thrust within her. The urgency had fled, replaced by a need for tenderness.

They held one another close, their bodies barely moving against one another whilst they tasted lips, tongues, necks and shoulders. Her hands slid down his shoulders to caress his lower back and the upper swell of his buttocks. He broke their kiss to look into her eyes, dark and fathomless. Her face glistened with sweat, flushed with pleasure as she sighed his name over and over again on the whisper of her breath.

“Mine,” she breathed, her nails digging into the flesh of his buttocks.

“Yes, yours,” he gasped. Emotion surged within him, turbulent and overwhelming and it took his breath away. He pressed an urgent kiss on her lips and slid his hands under her shoulders, his hips whipping against hers, the urgency from before returning with a vengeance. “And you’re mine,” he choked out, his breath heaving in and out of his mouth into her ear, one hand leaving her shoulder to grasp her hip to still her as he thrust into her warmth once, twice, three times before surrendering to his climax. He heard her cry out against his throat and he lost himself, vision blurring before him until they were still.

He had no memory of slipping her from body and gathering her against him. He only knew they were entwined, skin slick with sweat, the scent of their lovemaking heady in the air. He left her embrace only long enough to gather the bedclothes in his hand to pull them up and over their bodies before lying next to her and falling asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza stirred within the warm cocoon of Ross’s arms and opened her eyes. His face was within inches of her own, his long, black lashes feathered against his cheeks, his mouth slightly opened in sleep. She wanted to stretch, but her desire to remain with him here, in this moment, overrode the instinct. She was about to sink back into the pillow when he sighed softly and opened his eyes. She smiled shyly. “Ross,” she said, pressing her lips against his. He returned her kiss gently, his arms tightening around her until she sighed against his mouth and their tongues tangled. He broke the kiss before nestling deeper within the warm bedclothes.

“Demelza,” he said sleepily, raising his hand to cover a massive yawn. “Lord, what time is it?” he asked, his head swivelling around to check the windows. Demelza looked as well and was shocked to see the darkening sky outside. They’d slept the afternoon away!

“Oh Ross, I’m sorry,” she said, worry and blame filling her chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Enough of that, now,” he said. He raised his arms to stretch before gathering her against him, and kissed her forehead. “I was needed here more than anywhere else, is that understood?” She nodded. “Besides,” he continued, “you do not see me complaining about the afternoon’s activities, now do you?”

She laughed, her heart lightening, and snuggled against him. They lay quiet for a moment, and Demelza knew what she needed to say. “Ross?”

“Hmmm?” he murmured against her hair. She paused. He leaned back and arched a brow at her. “Yes, Demelza?”

She frowned a moment then looked at him. “I’m sorry about the invitation, Ross. I did promise you I would try and when you asked me I—”

He pressed a finger against her lips. “In truth, Demelza, I did not _ask_ you, exactly,” he said, the dimple in his left cheek winking in humour. She blinked and felt the frown returning to her brow. He leaned in to kiss it away. “I am sorry for that,” he said, serious now, “for I _should_ have asked you rather than simply told you.”

She nodded, peering up into his eyes. “I’d hoped…”

He cocked his head. “What did you hope, Demelza?” She felt colour rise in her cheeks and his fingers brushed them. “’Tis good to see colour in your cheeks, my dear.”

She ducked her head, certain now she was as red as their rooster’s comb. Despite this, she pressed on. “I’d hoped we would have a quiet Christmas here,” she said softly, linking her fingers with his. “Just the two of us.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. “Of course,” he said. “Our first holiday together as man and wife.” She curled some of his chest hair around her finger. “I did notice the greenery downstairs. It’s lovely. And I remember how much you enjoyed Christmas before we—”

“—It was just a dream, Ross,” she interrupted. They were silent for a moment. She could tell he was thinking for his eyes had become somewhat brooding and contemplative. She began to worry, nibbling on the thumbnail on her right hand when he squeezed her to recapture her attention.

“How about this? I shall write to Francis and tell him we will only be able to come for Christmas Eve. We would have to stay there overnight, for dinner will not end until well after midnight. But we would return to Nampara Christmas morning. Will that be a reasonable compromise, my dear?” He looked into her eyes, hopeful.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and smiled at him. She swallowed. “Thank you, Ross.” She pressed a kiss on his cheek. She nestled against him once again and, within minutes, was asleep.

~*~**~*~*~*~*~

Ross lay quietly, listening to Demelza’s breathing ease into the slow rhythm of sleep before quietly slipping from their bed. He pulled on his discarded clothing, changing his homespun coat for the blue wool, better suited for his role as Leisure’s manager and purser. There _were_ some matters of business he needed to attend to, but he’d been honest with her: he was needed more here than anywhere else. Most of the tasks he’d planned to do today could be shifted to tomorrow. The one thing that could not wait was a trip to the mine for a report on the day’s findings.

He turned to look at his wife. She lay curled amidst the bedclothes, her red hair wildly tangled against the ivory pillow. Her colour had returned and it eased his mind to see her so content in that moment. He would need to talk with her about all of the work she was putting in around the cottage. He’d meant to do that before other things distracted them, and pleasantly at that. Perhaps this afternoon’s slumber would set her to rights and she would return to her usual schedule for rest. He smiled at that. He started a small fire in the hearth before leaning over to brush a kiss on her forehead and then quit the room.

As he walked down the hall and down the stairs, his mind shifted to the question that had been left unanswered several hours before: who claimed his heart and soul? He recalled the moment her body had willed his back from the ashes of his first orgasm and the emotions that had engulfed him as he’d stared into her dark, fathomless eyes. She was right to ask it of him, to put the question to him, and he’d not let her go unanswered for long. He was close, so very close and he knew she deserved everything from him. But, if he were being honest, he could not take that last step. Not yet. And the fact that he couldn’t simply say that he was hers, body, heart and soul made him want to hit something. Preferably himself.

He walked into the parlour and was grateful not to run into any of the servants. He figured they would have guessed what their master and mistress had been up to that afternoon (he silently prayed the cottage’s thick stone walls helped shield some of their outbursts) but there was no need to see their knowing glances. Ever. He grabbed a scone from the table and broke off a large piece to quell the rumble forming in his stomach before taking his great coat off the hook and picking his hat up. He bobbled the scone and wound up dropping it and his hat onto the floor. “Dammit,” he muttered, picking up first the scone and depositing it on the sideboard. When he reached for his hat a slip of parchment fell out from inside. Frowning, he picked it up and read it.

 _Dear Ross,_  
Brandee and apple tart in the libry fer you. Sleep wel.  
Love,  
D  
P.S. Ther be no child to fret about.

He remembered now. She had given it to him several days after their hasty engagement and he’d tucked the note inside his hat after he read it. They’d barely started on this path towards their marriage and he was surprised at the disappointment he felt upon hearing they needn’t worry about a child. He’d been mainly concerned he wasn’t there when she learned the news, but there was a moment when the thought of a child between them had stirred something within him. He sighed, tucked the note back into his hat and set it on his head.

Twenty minutes later, as he stood on porch at the mine, a thought occurred to him. Was Demelza with child? It was entirely probable, given how often they made love. He tried to think back to the last time he noticed her flux but could not. Granted, it had been weeks since the last time were intimate, and his distraction with the mine had been nearly absolute. He had no idea how to tell if she was other than to ask her.

But she _would_ tell him, wouldn’t she?

**Author's Note:**

> So, how many of you thought Demelza's first note to Ross was just a little cast off back when I wrote [Three Weeks, Ch 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4665447/chapters/10692827). You never know what might show up later with me...it's a labrynth up there in my Poldark-obsessed brain. ;-) 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at mmmuses or on Twitter @mmmusings!


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